


A (K)night On The Tiles

by SparklyFiend



Category: The World's End (2013)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 03:59:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparklyFiend/pseuds/SparklyFiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” he asked, voice sounding deflated and very small even to his own ears.</p><p>“Nah,” Gary answered after a second, eyes once again fixed on the porcelain in front of him.  There was a beat - maybe two - where the air seemed very still between them,  “No, we’re not going to die,” he reiterated.  “We’re going to make it to The World’s End.”</p><p>or</p><p>"Fic Request: Gary and Andy, thinking they're going to die, have sex in the loo at one of the pubs they visit. Because fuck it I ship them."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A (K)night On The Tiles

**Author's Note:**

> So, nonny, this ended up being somewhat more feelings-based than porn - mea culpa - but hopefully this will tide you over until someone writes some fully-fledged filth xo.

  
The silence as they walked into The Beehive was eerie: no music, no mobiles and no background babble.  It made Andy’s hackles rise, and that was before he saw his old Sociology teacher sitting with a round of untouched drinks in the centre of the room.  
  
Something had to give.  
  
That something, true to form, was Gary.  
  
“‘M going for a piss,” he slurred, breaking the silence and jerking his thumb towards the gents in the back corner of the pub.  
  
“ _Really?!_ ” Andy snorted incredulously.  “Pub full of blanks, all of us stuck in this godforsaken town staring down our old Careers Advisor and you’re going for a piss?!”  
  
“Hey!  I’ve had eight pints!”  Gary blustered.  “If I’m going to die on the Golden Mile, I’d prefer it not to be with my dick out pissing against a wheelie-bin in an alleyway.”  
  
Steve shrugged and nodded, while Oliver kept beaming disarmingly.  Andy felt a muscle starting to twitch in his jaw.  
  
“It’s really fucking _irritating_ when you’re right,” the larger man acquiesced, shoulders slumping.  “Steve, look after everyone else.  We’ll be right back.”  
  
“You’re going in with him?”  Peter asked, glassy eyes confused.  
  
“Yeah,” Andy sighed.  “My Dumas is rusty, but as far as I remember no Musketeers drowned in their own vomit on a pub toilet floor.  I plan on keeping it that way.”  He planted a hand between Gary’s shoulderblades and wasn’t sure how he felt when the slighter man flinched.  “Walk,” he instructed, steering Gary into the toilets.  
  
“I don’t need your help to piss,” Gary snortgiggled as Andy pulled the fire extinguisher off the wall and fashioned a makeshift doorstop, barricading them into the toilets with the certainty that it would hold off a swarm of blanks for at least ten seconds.  
  
“Yeah, I remember you telling me that before,” Andy sighed, "and then you went and did it anyway, all over my sofa."  
  
  
"Oh yeah," Gary hummed in amusement as he unzipped his flies.  "Was that half-term in Upper Sixth?"  
  
  
"My third year of University," Andy corrected him.  “You still owe me for the deposit on that house.  You still…” he tailed off, because there was a lot that Gary owed him that he was never going to get back.  
  
  
He looked over, distracted, when he heard Gary rezip and their eyes locked briefly while he was trying to sort through the loose threads of his thoughts - find something beyond anger and panic and sadness at their situation.  He watched Gary’s tobacco-stained teeth worry briefly at his bottom lip and looked away.  
  
  
“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” he asked, voice sounding deflated and very small even to his own ears.

  
“Nah,” Gary answered after a second, eyes once again fixed on the porcelain in front of him.  There was a beat - maybe two - where the air seemed very still between them,  “No, we’re not going to die,” he reiterated.  “We’re going to make it to The World’s End.”  
  
“And what then, Gary?!  We have a quiet pint while we wait for all this to blow over?"  
  
“Maybe two pints,” Gary suggested, hitting the flush on the urinal.  “Hey, maybe shots!”  
  
“For fuck’s sake!”  Andy threw his hands up in the air, bringing the left one down and raking it through his hair wildly.  
  
Gary, at least, had the decency to look slightly shamefaced and slightly scared as Andy advanced towards him, and a small part of Andy from a long time ago hated that, because Gary King never looked scared, Gary King always had a plan - even if it was fucking ridiculous - and Gary King was never ashamed, even when he should have been.  
  
But for the most part, Andy was furious and scared and felt a little bit pleased as he backed the slender man against the wall.  
  
“You can’t,” he started, hands pressing thin shoulders to the tiles behind him, “you can’t try and salvage our almost certain doom with fucking Sambucca, Gary.  You can’t-”  
  
Gary opened his mouth, and Andy’s fingers tightened around his trenchcoat.  
  
“If you suggest Tequila instead, I swear to GOD I will ram a pint glass through your face.  It’s not funny, Gary, none of this is fucking funny, and I don’t know if you’re picking up on this, but I really _really_ don’t want to die.”  
  
“I don’t want you to die either, for fuck’s sake,” Gary said quietly.  He raised his hand towards Andy, then pulled it back as though he’d thought better of it.  “Of course I don’t want you to fucking die, I’d never…” he tailed off as Andy relaxed his grip and slowly dropped his hands.  
  
Andy knew he should have been furious, knew his blood should have been boiling at that statement, but when Gary reached out and lifted his chin so their eyes met, he leant into the touch just like he was seventeen again.  
  
“Please don’t,” Andy said softly, but there was little passion behind it.  
  
“But this was always the only bit of comforting you I was any good at,” Gary replied, and rested their foreheads together before pressing his lips to Andy’s.  
  
Andy tried to ignore the (most likely psychosomatic) throb of his ring finger, and the fact that the only thing that hadn’t changed about Newton Haven was sloppy drunk kisses in the pub toilets and bit down on a hysterical laugh rising in his throat, trying to focus on the familiarity of Gary’s lips against his, the rasp of his goatee against his face, the way his hands settled on Gary’s waist like they’d not been away for the last eighteen years.  
  
“You are still,” he admitted, when Gary pulled back, “you’re still good at that.”  
  
That should have been the end of it.  They should have left.  There were fucking fauxbots and no-bots and smashy-smashy eggmen outside, but when Gary smiled down at him like they could still take on the world and actually win, he found himself leaning back in without hesitation, trying to chase that belief off Gary’s lips and onto his own.  
  
Andy didn’t notice when his hand reached up to cup the back of Gary’s head, or when the other man spread his legs wide enough for him to slip a thigh between, or when they went from lazily kissing to rocking their hips in circles against each other, but when Gary’s hand reached for the waistband of his trousers, he pulled back slightly.  
  
“Don’t - Andy, c’mon - how can this _possibly_ make this night any weirder?” Gary asked, hips still moving against Andy’s thigh.  He dropped his head and pressed a wet kiss to Andy’s pulse point and - which, bastard, that wasn’t fucking fair, and Andy rolled his head back.  
  
“Fuck it,” he murmured, his own hands reaching for Gary’s flies.  
  
Gary’s dick was hot and heavy in his hand, and Gary still shivered when Andy rubbed his thumb along the ridge on the underside and if he thought the noises Gary made were enough to make his whole body thrum with want, the feeling of Gary’s fingers wrapping around him smooth and steady - metal rings cool against his skin - was another thing all together.  
  
Andy had spent so much time being angry at Gary that he’d fought to suppress missing anything about him, but the way his breath caught when he was being touched, and the way he twisted his wrist when he was touching Andy had hovered on the fringes of sweaty dreams for years and…  
  
Andy’s orgasm took him almost entirely by surprise, bitten into Gary’s collarbone when he realised he wouldn’t be able to silence himself.  As his teeth sunk down into skin, he felt Gary pulse over his hand, coming with a quiet sigh - still the only quiet thing about Gary King.  
  
As the haze of the orgasm faded, Andy’s sense of embarrassment kicked back in with full force.  He was definitely too old to be cleaning himself up with loo roll in a public toilet, although he supposed it could be worse as he watched Gary wipe himself off with the underside of his t-shirt.  
  
“We’ve survived worse,” Andy muttered to himself as Gary pulled the fire extinguisher away from the door.  “We can survive this.”  
  
“If not, at least we went out with a bang?” Gary suggested with a weak grin.  
  
“If I can survive that pun,” Andy responded as he swung the door open, “I can survive anything.”  
  
The eyes of every blank in the pub swivelled to stare at them, and Andy swallowed involuntarily.  “Or, almost anything,” he amended.  
  
Gary’s hand rested on his shoulder and squeezed briefly.  “Anything,” he said, sounding surprisingly sombre.  “You’re not going to die tonight.”  
  
“Yeah,” Andy nodded, mouth setting in a stern line as he started to walk over to Mr Shepherd’s table where Oliver was beckoning them.  “You’re right.  Fuck it.”

 


End file.
